


Enough OCs to fill a ship.... or be one.

by adexia, Elkian (SuperImposed)



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Drabble Collection, Gen, Mild Language, Mild Suggestiveness, OC-centric, Other, varies by chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2019-05-27 17:21:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 12,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15029474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adexia/pseuds/adexia, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuperImposed/pseuds/Elkian
Summary: This is adumping groundcollection of stuff about the many, many,manyTF OCs I've made since my terriblewonderful friend got me into More Than Meets The Eye and subsequently Generation 1.Canon characters will appear but I will tag by chapter rather than the fic as a whole so as not to spam the tags!





	1. Table of Contents

This is a table of contents and foreword!

 

The current plan is short drabbles, alternating each chapter between OC+OC and OC+Canon Character, as decided by a randomizer if I can find a good one.

Each individual chapter will have content warnings (as applicable) and character listings, as well as any prompts I may end up using. If you find I didn't tag a chapter adequately, please let me know so that I can fix that!

Explicit sexual content and character backstories will probably be posted separately.

I'm willing to consider requests, no guarantee that I can fill them.

 

Index:

1\. Table of Contents

2\. OC+OC (+OC): Fritzflight, Tapout, and Gyrostatic.

3\. Canon Character (+CC) +OC: Ravage, Soundwave, and Fizzle.

4\. OC+OC: Starvoid and Sweepback.

5\. CC/OC: Thundercracker/Treadshreds.

6\. OC+OC: Treadshreds and Fizzle.

7\. CC/CC+OC: Velocity/Nautica and Suture.

8\. GUEST CHAPTER 1: Rally and Derby + Starvoid, Rowback, Sweepback, Suture, Treadshreds, Wiretap, and Retro.

9\. CC+CC+OC: Starscream, Wheeljack, Diagnostic

10\. OC+OC: Gyrostatic and Diagnostic

11\. CC+OC: Shockwave and Sweepback

12\. OC+OC: Paygrade and Z-1700

13\. CCx6 + OC: Getaway and Atomizer plus Retro....and Ultra Magnus, Ratchet, Perceptor, and Drift.

14\. Reprise of chapter 13

15\. OC/OC: Starvoid/Rowback

16\. CC+OC Whirl and Suture

17\. CC+OC (+OC): Brainstorm, Flightpath, and Lowroad

18\. OC solo: Rowback

19\. OC+CCs: Suture and the Funcionalist Council (and Vector Sigma)

20\. OC/OC: Wildroar/Lectern

21\. OC/OC: Wildroar/Lectern - Human version

22\. CC+OC: Tailgate and Sweepback

23\. OC (+CC & +CC): Belt, ft Alpha Trion and Optimus Prime Cameos

24\. OC+OCs(+CC+CC): DireDiamond and Shatterglass and Shattershield, ft. Cliffjumper and Ironhide

25\. OC+OC+OC+OC: FritzFlight, TapOut, TreadShreds, and Gyro

26\. OC+OC+...OC?: Suture, Boon, and Bane

 

Commentary about canon (aside from it being a playground): My first TF was actually Cybertron (or possibly Energon, that distinction has always been really confusing). I was pretty young and it's been a while, so most of my TF knowledge comes from secondhand/fandom sources, having watched a bit of G1, and reading all of MTMTE and Lost Light. If you want to see characters from other series/iterations, I probably can't deliver.

 

I did watched the first two Bayverse movies but.... Bayverse.

(Although rewriting Bayverse to be palatable has an appeal.....)

 

Update: Some chapters touch on disturbing material. I'm doing my best to warn in the notes before each such chapter. Please let me know if you need further details!

 

edit: renumbered the chapters in the Index to make the drop-down more sensible


	2. Fritzflight and feelings (Fritzflight, Tapout, Gyrostatic)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I've never watched It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia  
> Disclaimer disclaimer: Someone help my son.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a continuity line where Tapout is training as a medic (which was already a potentiality for her but mostly it's to explain why she's overhearing this ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ )
> 
> CHARACTER SPOTLIGHT:  
>  **Fritzflight** : An Autobot MTO Seeker-like with a dour personality and vibrant paintjob. Likes: his brothers, plus Tapout and Gyrostatic. ~~_No one else._~~  
>  **Tapout** : An Autobot MTO triplechanger. Current altmodes: humvee and bomber jet. Has 4 arms, a conscientious personality, and an assload of anxiety regarding her bloodlust.  
>  **Gyrostatic** : An Autobot medic, quadcopter, and Empurata survivor. Has a dozen mini arm-like appendages from each shoulder rather than arms; central optic is surrounded by 6 auxiliary cameras. Has a gentle personality but also no time for this BS.

   

 

 

"You scheduled an appointment with Rung?"

Fritzflight's wings ceased their twitching for a moment as he slowly shifted his head to look at the doctor. "Yeah?"

Gyrostatic flapped two tentacles and an actuator at him. "It's not a criticism or anything, I'm just a little surprised. Glad you're taking me up on that advice."

Fritzflight shrugged, then suddenly relaxed as Tapout adjusted something in his back with a _pop!_ "Oof, that's better- yeah, that and, yanno, I had a feeling again the other day."

"You... had a feeling?"

"Yeah, weird, right? Been a while, figured I should check into it."

"What kind of feeling?" Tapout asked, easily palming his upper arm to rotate it into a better position.

"I dunno, that's why I'm seeing the shrink, isn't it?" He tipped his head to her. "You ever have a feeling, Tappy?"

"....I have feelings every day of my life."

"Really?"

"Are you saying you don't have feelings?"

Gyrostatic groaned and clonked his helm-form against the desk, suddenly feeling very grateful for Rung's existence.


	3. Ravage (and Soundwave) and Fizzle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fizzle is a _great_ medic, okay?
> 
> CHARACTER SPOTLIGHT:  
>  **Fizzle** : A Decepticon medic and boatformer. Her extremely chill personality and self-taught skills tend to grate on formally trained doctors. Extremely proud that most of the people she welded back together didn't die.
> 
> Fun fact: Fizzle was created June 23rd, 2018. This chapter was posted (at 1 am) on June 24th, 2018.

Ravage lay mostly still on the table, but his optics constantly flickered between Soundwave, standing vigil nearby, and the convoy-size medic who appeared immune to his carrier's piercing stares.

Said medic brandished a welder in each hand and tipped her head to Soundwave. "Don't worry, I do this kind of thing aaalll the time. It'll be over in no time."

<Soundwave, I'm not sure about this.>

<Ravage's concerns, understood. Other avenues of medical care, currently unavailable,> the boombox sent back to him, along with a pulse of comfort across their link. Nonetheless, Ravage noticed how he tensed when the medic stepped towards the jury-rigged medberth.

Ravage held himself still, trusting Soundwave to intervene should something go awry. Honestly, without him present the feline would have hidden in some dark corner for weeks rather than let this... this _quack_ operate on him.

The medic - Fizzle - ran a huge hand down his head a few times, but let off when he snarled at her. "Easy, buddy, you're gonna be fine." was all she said, tone still mellow despite his clear unease.

Ravage twitched and growled a few times, as sensitive wiring was tugged and the joint was re-set, but the operation as a whole was.... surprisingly painless.

Even if the patch welded over his hip was garishly amateur and the bot had the audacity to lightly slap said patch and discharge him with a "You're good to go. Take it easy!"

...Well. At least she wasn't a sadist.


	4. Sweepback and Starvoid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Starvoid pays witness as Sweepback strives for self-improvement....
> 
> CHARACTER SPOTLIGHT:  
>  **Starvoid** : An Autobot shipformer. Joined a special remodeling program in the early days of the war.  
>  **Sweepback** : An Autobot... janitor. And occasional marksbot (and field medic) as the sitation calls for it. Physically identical to IDW Tailgate, save for the legs and being a newer and cheaper build.

"You watching?"

"When am I not?"

"Ha! Good point. Well then...

Ready...

Steady...

Go!"

The minibot was a blur of pearl and teal plating, sweeping throught the room at blinding speed, covering every micrometer of floorspace.

"Call it!"

"43 astroseconds under your best time." Starvoid's amused voice rang through the empty, and now perfectly spotless, rec room. "Congrats, Sweepback. A new record."

"YES!" The minibot curled a triumphant fist with the hand not wielding the mop. "Even with the stain under table 2!"

"Indeed. Thanks for your hard work."

"Any time, Starvoid," he replied, patting the wall familiarly, "any time."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ....and by "shipformer" I mean "can run a 2,000-strong crew without strain" ;D
> 
> Starvoid is maybe my second-oldest TF OC, though she doesn't hold a patch on my oldest, and I love her so much.
> 
> Sweepback is _really devoted_ to doing his job well.


	5. Thundercracker / Treadshreds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a nice, out-of-the-way place where he doesn't have to worry about running into any of his faction for a bit. A quiet spot where he can watch the sunrise, if he feels like it.  
> Problem is, someone else realized the same thing.
> 
> F/M connotations, mild suggestiveness.
> 
> CHARACTER SPOTLIGHT:  
>  **Treadshreds** : An Autobot tankformer. Buff, tough, and ready to rumble ~~why do i keep introducing all my strong/huge girls first~~.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Treadshreds is, by far, my oldest TF OC, predating Starvoid by _a decade. If I had other OCs at the time, I do not remember them._  
>  Treadshreds was originally, as referenced here, written as a pairing with Thundercracker - who, at the time, I mostly knew from fanworks and thus interpreted as solemn and honorable and etc. and not the huge doofus he appears to be in IDW and sometimes/often G1 canon.  
> If you're interested in some really rough early writing/TS's origins, here ya go: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/5195098/1/50-Sentence-Challenge

"Well hey there, sweetspark."

Thundercracker groaned and swiveled on his thruster heel. "You again."

The green Autobot grinned, usual facemask and even visor nowhere in sight. "Me again!"

Thundercracker growled and gestured to the cliff edge. "Are you following me?"

"What? Can't a girl enjoy a good sunrise?" Not even trying to hide how her optics raked up and down his form, she added, "Can't a girl appreciate a lil beauty?"

It was because she was as strong as - maybe stronger than - that Brawn bot that she was _barely_ taller than that he didn't chase her off, of course. It had absolutely nothing to do with her blatant but hands-off attraction to him, or the fact that she was way, way cuter than any Decepticon tankformer, or anything like that.

Nothing to do with the fact that he could flop into place right against her and, while she would shift to make room and grin at him, she wouldn't make a move to touch him.

If that grin grew when his hand _accidentally_ landed on one broad green thigh, well, he was too busy watching the horizon to notice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ my intentions started so pure I don't know what happened


	6. Treadshreds and Fizzle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oldest OC meets newest OC.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was wracking my brain for what to do before my upcoming Suture-Velocity-Nautica chapter and realized I could put these two together. Oldest OC meets newest OC, pass the Bechdel test a chapter early (I promise the next chapter has actual wlw overtones and not just 'a conversation' lol), and, I'm reminding myself that my kids shouldn't get along all the time.
> 
> ...well, I'm _trying_
> 
> Captivity, accidental overtones of in-universe classism/functionism whoops

"Designation?"

"Fizzle."

The Decepticon squinted, studying the nearly-a-mini Autobot. That blue visor and matte olive facemask hid any potential expression, though, so it wasn't doing much for her yet.

"Occupation?" the 'Bot, Treadshreds, asked, visor barely flicking up from the datapad.

"Medic."

"Really?" _That_ seemed to get her attention. Fizzle wondered if maybe she shoulda kept that one on the down-low - medics were primary targets for more than just elimination. Then she saw her captor's gaze tilt down, to her bound hands, and got it. "With...?"

Fizzle shrugged as best she could, being bound in the ever-annoying stasis cuffs. "With my big build and my big hands, yeah." She shrugged again, canting her head to the side, "I mean- look, if my buddy is dying and I can weld them back together, then I'm gonna. It just kinda kept happening."

That was probably way too much information, and the boatformer's spark sank as the little tank opened her cell. To her surprise, the other guards barely glanced at the action, even as this Treadshreds beckoned for her to come out.

"Your friends were claiming that they'd rather be fixed by you," she said, to Fizzle's surprise, as the liner fell into step just behind her. The tank glanced backwards as she walked - which didn't slow her, but only by virtue of her already all but crawling - and added, "Boss wanted to know for sure if they were telling the truth. Sorry about the third degree."

"Uh." Fizzle rolled her shoulders in another shrug, hull 'wings' clattering against her back with the motion. "I- yeah. I mean, I... no, yeah, I get you." She narrowed her optics at the little grounder. "But, I mean, if I was lying or feeling frisky, you'd kinda be suuuunk-!?"

The boatformer let out an undignified _squeak_ as the tank took her wrist - and drew her forward as if _she_ was the near-mini and _Treadshreds_ was the convoy-class. The tank looked back at her, and Fizzle didn't think she imagined that glinting in her visor as she said "Oh, sweetspark, I am more than enough guard for one bot, don't you worry."

Fizzle would never be quite sure which part of that capture was more memorable - being allowed to fix her friends, or the easy strength - and surprising decency - of the Autobot frontliner.

 


	7. Velocity, Nautica, Suture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Junior Doctor Velocity is trying to make a good impression on a medbay full of overachievers. Senior Doctor Suture, at least, knows when someone's on the brink of burnout.
> 
> (mildly) F/F, Nautica/Velocity
> 
> CHARACTER SPOTLIGHT:  
>  **Suture** : An Autobot medic and ambulance. Very, very, _very_ tired of being compared to Soundwave. Life ambition: _literally_ punch actual Mortilus-deity-of-death square in the face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I first created Suture - I don't actually remember what my plan was, but I didn't consciously plan to create an autistic robot. I did, however, _succeed_ , and I love my autistic robot daughter so much, you guys.  
> Suture was made a little after Starvoid, around the same time as Rowback, Wiretap, and later Sweepback, and serves with those four aboard Starvoid as Chief Medic.  
> Suture has approximately 6 AUs centered around her, more than any other OC by far. Tapout and Hollowhowl barely make second and third place.

 

 

"Coming!" Nautica picked her way over a pile of - whoops, those datapads were supposed to go back to Rung a week ago! She hurriedly pushed a stack aside to open the hab door to an unexpected sight. "Suture? What happened?"

The silver ambulance ducked into the hab, careful not to jostle the turquoise bot curled in her arms. "Junior Doctor: Velocity continuing to work past safe parameters," she answered, waiting for Nautica to clear the younger medic's berth. She laid Velocity down with that confident care ascribed in her every move, adjusting the blue femme's limbs with minute, precise movements.

"Is she going to be okay?" Nautica asked, hand hovering over her friend's helm. Suture continued to position the other medic for optimal comfort as she responded.

"Junior Doctor: Velocity experiencing mild exhaustion and will recover with adequate rest." The silver medic looked up, gaze intense even through the green medical scanner she usually equipped. "Unit: Nautica's assistance optimal for preventing repeat incidents."

Nautica gave in and let her fingers ghost over Velocity's helm; the other Camien sighed softly in her recharge and relaxed.

....which should not make Nautica's fans kick on. The scientist was suddenly grateful that Suture wasn't prone to knowing looks, because _Primus_.

"I-" right, right, Suture had said something, "Yeah, I'll do what I can- oh! I could totally set up meet-ups at Swerve's and stuff after her shifts. That would help, right?"

"Probability: high." Suture agreed with a small nod, withdrawing from the berth. To Nautica's surprise, instead of heading straight for the door, the chrome ambulance stepped closer to _her_ , and murmured in her audial, "Unit: Nautica has this unit's support."

_Now_ a rare smile flickered onto the medic's face, and at least she had the mercy to simply leave in silence. Nautica groaned and sank to the floor as the door slid shut, wrapping her arms around her head.

She was so screwed.


	8. GUEST APPEARANCES PART 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No one knows who keeps playing Ultimate Demolition Derby matches in Starvoid's rec room.
> 
> GUEST SPOTLIGHT:  
>  **Rally** : A nonaffiliated monster truck. She plays Ultra Demolition Derby on a team with her conjunx, conveniently also named Derby. She enjoys sports and wrecking things.  
>  **Derby** : A nonaffiliated Ultra Demolition Derby player, on a team with her conjunx Rally. Likes to Go Fast and has heelys. Definitely has an altmode, how dare you think otherwise. She'll have Rally run you over.
> 
> CHARACTER SPOTLIGHT:  
>  **Rowback** : An Autobot pilot and aquatic car hybrid. A bit sensitive about his alt mode but otherwise almost absurdly laconic. An extremely good pilot ~~and maybe a tiny bit in love with his ship~~.  
>  **Wiretap** : An Autobot communications officer with an electro-cannon alt mode. Their head _looks_ like an Empurata survivor's but it's not certain if they were just made that way or not. Has a wicked sense of humor and solid friendship with Suture.  
>  **Retro** : An Autobot UTV frontliner. Can't use their vocalizer and very, very tired of being asked why. Fluent in several nonverbal languages, likes to tinker on small projects like keyboards, RC-car-likes, etc.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wiretap, Rowback, Sweepback, and Suture are definite members of Starvoid's crew. Other members may include: Retro, Treadshreds, Tapout, possibly Cyanotype, and ideally, Dex's medic, Hatchback.

"....again?"

"What's up?" Wiretap poked their head into the rec room. "Oh. Huh."

Rowback turned to the minitank at his side. "And you're sure it's not-"

Treadshreds cut him off with a wave. "When I watch sports, it's not usually something I can do myself."

"Fair." The pilot turned back to the screen and sighed. "I don't mind people watching what they want, but who's leaving the monitors on?"

"I could check?" Wiretap offered, leaning against the doorway and extending a hand.

"It's not me," Treadshreds said thoughtfully, pointing at each person in turn, "Sweepback's too responsible to forget to turn it off and too inventive when it comes to actual pranking-" "Thank you." "-my pleasure, Rowback's also too responsible and doesn't care about sports, Wiretap's pranks are way smoother than this, and I'm pretty sure you-" she indicated the incoming Suture, who paused and turned to face her, "don't have much interest in violent slag, and, again, too responsible. Retro, maybe?"

The UTV inclined their head, then shook it. < _No,_ > they signed, < _I don't mind this kind of thing either, but I don't seek it out._ >

"So _nobody_ here-"

Wiretap cut Sweepback off with an amused, "Starvoid? Who has been streaming the Ultimate Demolition Derby matches to this rec room?"

There was a chime that indicated the ship's awareness, followed by an unusual pause.

"...I have."

Everyone glanced up, a response that had the shipformer in giggles. "What? I find Rally and Derby's... skills to be quite, ah, admirable."

"You think they're cute!" Treadshreds said, mask not hiding the grin in her voice as she planted a hand on each hip.

"Also that."

\---

Back on Cybertron....

\---

"Hey, Rally, check this out."

The monster truck wiped the remaining energon off her plating and stepped up behind her conjux. Derby didn't look up from the datapad, but she did lean back against her wife's legs. "What's up?"

Derby pointed to the stat tracker on the site, showing viewers for their teams. "Look at this. So most of our watchers are on Cybertron, maybe a couple on Caminus for some reason, and- _this._ "

Rally followed the finger that indicated a single dot out in the black, hundreds if not thousands of parsecs away. She let out a low whistle. "Fake IP, maybe?"

Derby shook her head. "That's what I thought, at first, but it looks legit." She shrugged. "Somewhere, a million billion light years away, someone is watching every single match we have."

"Huh." Rally slung the energon-stained towel over her shoulder and crouched to better see the screen. "I wonder who it could be?"

"I have no idea, but I tell you this: I bet they're our _biggest_ fan."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RALLY and DERBY are characters courtesy of my good pal @adexia and used with enthusiastic permission & assistance.
> 
> You can thank Dex for that awful, awful pun.


	9. Starscream, Wheeljack, Diagnostic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am having a really bad sensory overload day. One of my OCs already has canon(???) issues with it but I can't remember who so now Diagnostic gets it too!
> 
> character spotlight (all caps makes my head hurt right now):  
>  **Diagnostic** : A neutral medic crane and Empurata survivor (one of my TWO Empurata'd medics whose solution was 'screw it, multi-arms'). Previously fled to Treadshreds' (potential) home station and acted as their doctor. Compassionate, but irritable and tired of being the butt of every joke.

Oh.

It was going to be one of _those_ days.

Diagnostic felt his shoulders tense as the nearby scanner beeped its completion. A sound that he heard dozens of times a cycle, but now it grated on him like a rasp directly to the brain module. The overbright lights above flickered and buzzed, and if he'd had denta he'd be grinding them.

He vaguely remembers the same problem back when he was Scanover... back when he'd had hands, and faceplates, and friends. But there's something uniquely disorienting about having half your cranium scooped out that just makes it so much worse, so more frequent.

He just had to finish this report. He'd taken care of the few injuries, side-stepped Ratbat's... whatever the hell it was today, cleaned everything. He just needed to finish this damn paperwork-

Starscream. Starscream wanted something. Starscream was talking but to be totally honest Diagnostic wasn't hearing a frellin' word of it, he was trying to focus on not losing the last of his patience and breaking his medical vows to deck the slagger in the face, or at least shake him vigorously.

"i need to disengage."

was that his voice? he sounded like hell. dammit, he's better than that, better than showing it, better than letting anyone think him weak especially especially _STARSCREAM_ and just thinking the name like that hurts dammit.

"diagnostic? what's wrong?" wheeljacks voice isnt as bad but oh god his head his head.

Focus diagnostic focus. You can do this. Just get through this and then you can lie down in the dark.

"I need to disengage." Better. Softer but steadier. Datapad on the desk. Paperwork is- as done as it's getting, right now. Vent. Focus. "I need to be somewhere quiet right now. Okay?" Less a rhetorical and more begging but Wheeljack is nodding slowly instead of _answering_ and even Starscream seems to be looking a bit thoughtful.

Wheeljack offers a hand but- he can't dial down his sensors like this, has to shake it off, but Wheeljack takes it in stride and just beckons and leads him to his berthroom and he could _cry_ if he could cry.

You can do this, Diagnostic. Don't be a dipstick to the one person who's actually trying to help. "Thanks," and oh does he sound rough. "I- sorry. This happens sometimes."

Wheeljack nods again and gives a little wave and Diagnostic really does want to cry because

when was

the last time someone understood right away who wasn't a medic? And even realized his lights might be a problem?

The door shutters shut on the blessedly dark room and Diagnostic feels his entire body uncoil like a... something. Primus, he's tired.

Before he turns off as much of

his

sensory suite as he can, Diagnostic pins a

reminder

on his HUD to do something nice for Wheeljack in the very near

future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried randomly rolling canon characters for him to interact with but I got the Horrorcons, whom I haven't even met in the show yet, and am not up to doing the necessary research in this state.  
> I was actually going to do the LL crew again and then had a stroke of brilliance.
> 
>  
> 
> *fingerguns* I feel like heck let me live


	10. Diagnostic and Gyrostatic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've put these bois together (in my head) before, but I figured out another way I can put them 'together'...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Both of these guys decided the answer to 'Functionists say you've lost your hand privileges' was 'screw you, I'll add more!'.
> 
> Gyrostatic has roughly a dozen mini-appendages on each side, _instead_ of any major arm construction, while Diagnostic has skinny primary arms and then about 8 secondary limbs that usually fold into his back when he's not using them.
> 
> (Neither of them have the 'medic sensitivity' in a single _set_ of servos, but instead they have it cumulatively across all their limbs. In Gyro's case, each mini-limb is a bit specialized, both in terms of senses and what if can do, while Diagnostic's are a bit broader in range.)

Oddly enough, for once something was squarely _Gyro's_ fault. Despite what his slag-helm of an old commander used to say, he wasn't actually to blame when things went wrong most of the time. Similarly, Diagnostic was having a difficult time pinning this on himself. All _he'd_ done was stretch his auxiliary back arms after a long work cycle of minor surgeries.

Gyrostatic hand thought to pat the younger medic on the back after a successful work cycle. He hadn't considered that his forest of ancillary limbs could get caught in the folding mechanisms of Diagonstic's back appendages.

Long story short: they were stuck. Tangled, in fact.

"-rotate 40 degrees clockwise-"

"-can't rotate, I'll break your second-proximal hinge-"

"This is _ridiculous_ ," the crane huffed, unable to even gesticulate with his primary arms, lest he shift something in his back and... yeah, that would turn nasty quick. "Screw it, let's call- I don't know, Brainstorm?"

" _Not_ Brainstorm," Gyro all but barked, hurriedly smoothing with, "Not Brainstorm. Maybe Skids or Nightbeat, though..."

"I don't want Ratchet to see me like this," Diagnostic admitted, semi-able to sense Gyro's nod, "But let's pick someone who's not going to laugh at- us."

"I don't think either of them would be too bad?" Gyro said, thorax puffing with pride as he extricated an actuator - only to realize he'd more thoroughly entangled one of his tentacles. So intent was he that he missed Diagnostic's tensing. "Perceptor, though? I can see him being discreet-"

"Discreet-" Diagnostic tensed further, then forcibly lowered his shoulders when the senior medic fussed, "You know who'd be _great_ for this? _Rung_." he said, trying and failing to snap his claws- though at least he hadn't made things worse.

"Rung?"

"You remember Rung, right?" Diagnostic tipped his head at Gyrostatic's direction. Most people seemed to forget the little psychiatrist, which seemed a shame.

"Vaguely: I know he's helping Tapout and Fritzflight, but I'm not sure we've met in person."

He'd been helping Diagnostic too, but the other medic didn't need to know that. "Well... he's got small hands and he builds all those- his office is full of little ship models that he's built. I bet he can help a _little_ , and I know he won't- won't make a joke of it."

Rung might laugh at the situation, but Diagnostic had never worried about the smaller mech laughing at _him_.

"Before that, maybe I can-"

Silence trailed. "...Gyro?"

"....I may have just tied a knot."

"I'm calling Rung."

"Please do."


	11. Shockwave and Sweepback

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sweepback no that's an enemy

Shockwave did not groan as he came online - partly because it was _undignified_ and partly because, even off the front lines for so long, war instilled certain instincts in one.

(A half-formed thought tree about assassinations flickered in his processor before being automatically deleted.)

Silent, still, and optic unlit, Shockwave carefully stretched out his senses.

 _Pain_ was prevalent, sensible given the hit he'd taken- and the subsequent fall.

But it was not so bad as it could be.

Sound. A muffled voice, low but quiet close. Shockwave barely managed not to jolt as he realized the owner was _touching him_ , and unknown to him. Struggling to calm himself, he tried to focus on the words.

"-found him, pretty badly damaged." A tiny hand ran over his side, spot-welding the worst of the bleeds. With further concentration, he _did_ recognize the voice - that little blue and white Autobot, energetic and brash. Had he been on the ledge when Shockwave had fallen? He couldn't recall. "Probably shouldn't get close enough, you know, what if he gets up?" and it took everything the empuratee had not to laugh, a paroxysm that would surely become an endless, hysterical gale.

 _Him_. The little 'Bot was talking about - reporting back to his commander - _him_.

The minibot was blatantly acknowledging the wisdom of not approaching him _as he repaired Shockwave's injuries?_

What **was** this bot?

"Yeah, I'll leave him where he is and meet up in 5," the minibot finished, comm snapping off smoothly. Shockwave waited to be certain (and most definitely not to allow the minibot another few astroseconds to repair farther) before his still-good hand snapped up, gripping most of the smaller bot's torso with the grab.

"What... are you?" Shockwave asked, mentally scowling - he wouldn't be striking fear into much of anyone sounding that rough. He onlined his optic in time to see the minibot's head snap up and visor meet him.

"Oh, you're up. Uh. I was kinda hoping you'd still be out so I _wouldn't_ have to answer that question, haha." The Autobot bent to his task as Shockwave struggled with suspicion. Not wanting him to know of the repairs set off alarms in his processor, but as far as all his diagnostic sweeps could tell, the 'Bot was... doing nothing beyond sealing the worst of his open wounds.

"You are repairing me. Explain," he demanded, trying to keep his voice harsh and non-indicative of his mounting... concern.

"....you're hurt, you weren't actively trying to murder me, and I have a welding torch?" The blue visor tilts in a show of mild confusion before the mini welds one last spot, closes the relevant panel, and stands. "That's the most I can do right now - sorry, I'm really not a medical unit - and my team's gonna get worried, so I gotta go." The mini waves one pale hand in a cheery farewell. "Don't move too much, okay? You were hurt pretty bad."

"This will not change anything," Shockwave says, more confused by the astrosecond.

The Autobot glances over his shoulder mid-retreat, still walking as he says, "Yeah, I know. Take care of yourself!" and before Shockwave can muster a response, he's transformed and disappeared in a cloud of dust.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact I'm keeping track of all my character's Matrix Compatibility(TM)  
> Sweepback is at 100%


	12. Paygrade and Z

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slice of life on a tiny ship in space.
> 
> Warnings: One character's origin amounts to forced prostitution/sexual slavery (+mind-alteration/pre-programming a la 'slave coding') but it's in the past and no details ever come up.
> 
> CHARACTER SPOTLIGHT:  
>  _Z-1700s_ : A series of made-to-order pleasurebots, 1700s are the luxury line. Typically golden, easy to break but hard to destroy...
> 
>  **Z/Zeta/Z-1700** : A Neutral ex-pleasurebot who commissioned Paygrade to kill his owner. Developing his skills with maintenance and repair to smooth over ~~coercing~~ asking Paygrade to take him aboard. Constantly surprised that people assume he's the nice one.  
>  **Paygrade** : A Neutral assassin who can't quite stifle his sense of decency. Staying out of the war except for jobs. Completely at a loss at how to handle the former pleasurebot who now rooms - and flirts incessantly - with him.

Paygrade was diligent in his security checks - but the moment he got to the cockpit of his little shuttle, the assassin dropped into the main seat with a heavy vent.

A pair of golden pedes - more cylinders than any kind of foot shape - crossed in the air and tapped down on his shoulder. 'Zeta' leaned forward, making his seat on the console even more precarious. "No good?"

Paygrade groaned softly and leaned back in the chair. "They wanted Prowl."

"That's... Autobot high command, right?" Z dropped his usual honeyed tone for a moment, still new to and unsure of warfare. When Paygrade nodded, he rallied. "Didn't have the four mil?" He smirked.

"Prowl's dangerous enough to be five-point-five," Paygrade said. He started flipping switches without even looking up. "Or one-point-five in g-creds."

Zeta shook his head mockingly. "They didn't insult your skills, did they, darling?" His mouth was smiling, but there was murder in the ex-pleasurebot's orange optics. His narrow fingers toyed thoughtfully with one of his wrenches.

Paygrade flapped one hand, starting final takeoff checks with the other. "I told 'em what I always tell them - if they don't want to pay, they're welcome to try and take him out themselves." His visor glinted as he tilted his head to the side, Z's feet sliding off his shoulder following the motion. "They were disinclined to either option."

One of Paygrade's oldest and most iron-clad conditions was "No faction leaders". He'd grudgingly accepted commissions for high command - to anyone who could afford his prices.

"Zeta, would you sit properly and start the launch, please?"

"Think they'll be trouble?" The golden bot's optics flashed as he smoothly traded seats, though not so smoothly that he <i>didn't</i> bump shoulders with the assassin at his side.

"Rather not stick around to find out." The Decepticons hadn't been nearly as argumentative as some of his previous failed transactions, but they'd been enough in force that he'd rather not risk it.

Especially with Z aboard, now.

"Suits me fine," the bot in question was saying, a playful smirk on his faceplates. He flicked the final switch without looking away from Paygrade. "I'll never complain about more quality time with my sweetspark."

If Paygrade had a reply to that, it was lost in the roar of the launch thrusters. Probably just as well.

He held out his hand.

Trembling gold fingers hooked through his, and they looked ahead as they punched through the sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Z-1700 got his old programming shut down as much as possible between being freed and getting Paygrade to take him on (there was like a 5-year gap) but Paygrade has a very hard time believing that's true/that 'Zeta's' affection is genuine and voluntary.
> 
> Z is actually super agoraphobic due to being confined to like the same ~6 rooms for most of his life and then SPACE TRAVEL. He's not taking it well. Paygrade helps.
> 
> Paygrade is an offroad groundcar, Z-1700 looks like if Starscream (or Sunstorm, given the coloring) was built with Rung's proportions +15% more leg.
> 
> Everything is a perch when you're Z. Including your hopefully-maybe-someday-soon-botfriend.


	13. Getaway, Atomizer, and Retro (And Drift, and Ultra Magnus, and Ratchet, and Perceptor..........)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When ~~all~~ the best thing you have is a hammer, all your problems start to look like nails.
> 
> (Continuity is... fluid here.)
> 
> Warnings: Some mild mentions of violence and discussion (and relapse) of previous mind alteration.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Character Revisitation:  
>  **Retro** : An Autobot UTV frontliner. Can't use their vocalizer and very, very tired of being asked why. Fluent in several nonverbal languages, likes to tinker on small projects like keyboards, RC-car-likes, etc.
> 
> Retro previously appeared in Chapter 8: Guest Appearances, but there was a lot of characters and very little time, so I'm reposting their Spotlight.
> 
> More to the point, in one potential continuity for Retro, they're captured by the Decepticons and brainwashed as part of an experiment. The Autobots eventually recovered and reverted them....mostly.

Retro's world goes sideways.

A not-quite- _WHUMPF_ of not-sound echoes in their head. Their body tips. Their vision goes dark.

Their vision comes back **red**.

"-a shame," Primary Assailant is saying. He's walking away from Relay 8, The Weapon loose at his side. The Assailant's accomplice is turned towards Relay 8.

Autobot.

\---

"Getaway! Look out!" Atomizer _lunges_ , barely shoving his partner out of the shot. Laser fire sizzles the edge of Getaway's helm and one of Atomizer's pauldrons, both drawing weapons as they turn on... Retro?

The stubby UTV's body language is completely different, but not foreign - not to two bots who survived a war.

That's the stance of a _threat_.

Then the rogue is firing on them again, shots so painfully accurate that it's hard to believe this is the shy bot of before, the one who couldn't conscience killing _Megatron_ if it meant Tailgate died.

So caught up in survival are the pair that neither even notices Retro's visor is no longer blue.

\---

Primary Assailant captures the asset's focus. Autobot, returning fire, previously attacked... the remaining list is so long that the asset has to minimize it, behind the alerts in its HUD where vital chunks of the Relay programming are just... missing.

Assets do not feel bereft. Assets do not feel lost. Assets do not feel.

Assets finish the job.

\---

Ultra Magnus is not built for speed, but he is faster than many assume. Perhaps even more would assume he would never run in the halls - let alone transform - but he absolutely must.

Red Alert's warnings ring dire in his processor, remembered and present, as the door slides open. Even more prevalent are Ratchet and Perceptor's entreaties - to stop them, to protect them, to keep them from killing when unable to think for themself.

Ultra Magnus barely has time to wonder what that truly means before the door is open, and he's in a fight for all of their lives.

\---

"I'm here," he says, practically skidding across the floor on his pedes, as he didn't bother bleeding momentum before transforming. Ratchet glances up at him, and it's a little scary to Drift just how _relieved_ the CMO looks.

Before he can even react, the medic slaps a patch of tape over his Autobrand. "Uh?"

"Retro was reprogrammed during the war," Perceptor cuts in effortlessly, and Drift's fuel goes cold in his lines. The scientist -and former Wrecker- gives him a measured look. "We recovered them and removed what we could, but a sizeable portion of the new coding was simply... repressed. It has been reactivated." He hands Drift a smooth syringe full of what looks like liquid graphite, but the sports car knows to be some kind of nanite suspension.

"You have the best chance of getting close enough to inject without losing your head," Ratchet picks up the thread, pointing at Drift's covered sigil. "Even if they don't recognize who you _used_ to be-"

"-they won't recognize me as an Autobot," Drift finishes, resetting his vocalizer when the words come out harsh.

"Sorry," the medic says, and he seems to sincerely mean it. He nods towards the corridor where laser fire has only just ceased pinging - though given the sounds still coming around the corner, it's not because the fight's over. "Try not to break anything I can't fix - on either of you," and then Drift is running.

\---

Drift - and Deadlock, and Drift before him - has always had a lot of bad defrags. A _lot_.

None of them are quite this creative.

None of them are Retro - cautious-yet-exuberant Retro, the bot who shyly asked him to speak chirolingua with them (and clumsily confessed their crush on him through it), who makes radios and fixes datapads in their spare time, who teaches Swerve to sign out puns and definitely grins behind that mask when the minibot slaps his knee and howls with laughter-

Drift knows - every part of him, always. People can do all sorts of terrible things, no matter how kind they seem - how kind they start. He lived through five million years of war and the gutters and rebuilding his own personhood brick by brick, for Primussake.

Which gives him the composure, at least, to keep moving forward when Retro turns that red visor on him, back-gripped knife coming up defensively, energon leaking down it and seeping into their arm synthesizer panels and that will be such a pain for them later, later, when they're Retro again-

He can _see_ when their threat assessment programming dismisses him, when they turn - not on Ultra Magnus, who  seems like the obvious main threat, but on _Getaway_ , of all mechs - and that's when he lunges.

He knows they see him out of the corner of that wrong red visor, and he puts on a burst of speed even as they start to turn back, but it's too late. His hand closes (forgive me) on their roll cage, and they don't even _flinch_ , and then the injector is in their primary neck line and down they go.

\---

"-no idea what caused it?"

Ratchet shook his head from where he crouched over the UTV's prone form, the worst of everyone else's wounds already stabilized. "We'll have to check the system logs, and Pit knows how long that could take."

"But we won't rest until it's done," Perceptor adds softly, almost drowned out by Getaway's "System logs?"

The medic shoots him a mildly irritated look. "Yeah, built-in, like the alarm that clued us in. Ours and the ones already present in- well, that's confidential, strictly speaking, but I'm sure Spec Ops knows about it," and before Getaway can formulate a response, he says something even more chilling, gesturing at the ceiling, "Red Alert's paranoia works out for once, though. All those cameras are sure to give us an angle on whatever... went wrong."

Ultra Magnus frowned at the body on the floor. "I still-"

" **NO**." Ratchet and Perceptor cut the SIC off in almost perfect unison. It'd be funnier if Getaway wasn't in the process of realizing just how badly things were about to come crashing down.

And if he could find the damn nudge gun, which got kicked out of his grip by the rampaging UTV and he hasn't seen since.

"Is Retro going to be okay?" He said instead, tipping his head towards them in his best concern. He could _feel_ Atomizer's startle behind him and turned slightly. "I know they attacked us, but.... it sounds like they weren't in their right mind?"

"They'll recover," Ratchet says, just an iota more suspicious than Getaway was expecting. He does his best to exude innocence and worry. The medic slips his hands under their shoulders and, with Drift's help, haul the short mid-size up and onto the gurney. He turns to Ultra Magnus. "I'll keep you apprised. Let me know what these two manage to remember."

It takes everything Getaway has not to pull his last spare blaster and end the troublesome bot before their secrets - _all_ their secrets - can be gleaned from Retro's processor. He and Atomizer manage to get through Magnus's debrief by claiming surprise and disorientation when - ha! - their _friend_ turned on them like that. As soon as the SIC waved them out of his office, he grabs Atomizer's arm in a denting grip and hauls him to his room.

They have a plan to salvage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly I could probably edit out like 90% of this chapter and it'd be more impactful, but I'm also trying to remember things so /shrug


	14. Getaway and Retro: Reprised

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is my attempt at making the previous chapter more impactful by stripping out approximately 99% of its content.
> 
> We'll see.

"-a shame," Primary Assailant is saying. He's walking away from Relay 8, The Weapon loose at his side. The Assailant's accomplice is turned towards Relay 8, but it already knows.

Autobot.

\---

"Getaway! Look out!" Atomizer _lunges_ , barely shoving his partner out of the shot. Laser fire sizzles the edge of Getaway's helm and one of Atomizer's pauldrons, both drawing weapons as they turn on... Retro?

The stubby UTV's body language is completely different, but not foreign - not to two bots who survived a war.

That's the stance of a _threat_.

Then the rogue is firing on them again, shots so painfully accurate that it's hard to believe this is the shy bot of before, the one who couldn't conscience killing _Megatron_ if it meant Tailgate died.

So caught up in survival are the pair that neither even notices Retro's visor is no longer blue.

\---

Primary Assailant captures the asset's focus. Autobot, returning fire, previously attacked... the remaining list is so long that the asset has to minimize it, behind the alerts in its HUD where vital chunks of the Relay programming are just... missing.

Assets do not feel bereft. Assets do not feel lost. Assets do not feel.

Assets finish the job.

\---

Ratchet tapes over his Autobrand, Perceptor gives him the tranq, and then Drift is around the corner.

Drift's lived through a lot of terrible slag, under every name he's held. He never thought this would be one of them, but experience gives him steadiness when Retro turns that red visor on him. The vibroblade in their hand leaks pink; most of their orange paint is spattered the same.

He can _see_ when their threat assessment programming dismisses him, when they turn - not on Ultra Magnus, who  seems like the obvious main threat, but on _Getaway_ , of all mechs - and that's when he lunges.

He knows they see him out of the corner of that wrong red visor, and he puts on a burst of speed even as they start to turn back, but it's too late. His hand closes (forgive me) on their roll cage, and they don't even _flinch_ , and then the injector is in their primary neck line and down they go.

\---

Getaway is in shambles.

The nudge gun is, quite possibly, gone forever - that meddlesome bot focused on it, which had been annoying right up until it skittered into a floor grate and that visor turned on _him_. Knocking the gun out of their hands, if anything, had just made it worse - where did they _keep_ all those blades!?

But that's the least of his problems. Ultra Magnus and Drift _and_ Ratchet are now eyeing him with suspicion, it turns out Retro had auto-recording on the whole fight (maybe even before it), and he doesn't even know if the nudge _worked_ or just knocked their stitched-up processor out of alignment for a few minutes.

He hasn't been this shaken in a long time. The second Magnus lets him and Atomizer out of his office, he grabs his cohort and _runs_ to his hab.

They have a lot to do, and not much time to do it in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't find a way to worm it in, but Whirl is on good-ish terms with Retro and let Getaway know at the start that he wasn't allowed to hurt them (not that Getaway really cared but.....).
> 
> Retro is a little on the small side and has a roll bar across their back and far too many people consider it a good gripping point so they're sensitive about it being touched.  
> (Actually I had a thing where they had spikes and/or electric bits in it to ward off grabs but I forgot whoops.)  
> (I have so much stuff for Retro you guys.)


	15. Starvoid and Rowback (Sunbow and Rowback)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That last chapter (set) was pretty dramatic. Let's wind down a bit.
> 
> M/F, OC/OC, G-rated, PG at worst
> 
> ~~kiiiind of a warning for weird transformers alt mode discussion bc being piloted by someone does not fit with human norms? idk even.~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Character Revisit/Spotlight:  
>  **Rowback** : An Autobot aquacar who serves as a (pretty amazing) starship pilot. Laconic and quiet, he's a good friend to have.  
>  **Starvoid** : An Autobot warship who can crew up to around 2,000 regular-size bots. Chose to be upsized in order to better protect others.  
>  **Sunbow** : A skydancer scout whose best friend, Silver Starlight, was recruited as a frontliner. They volunteered for the immensely dangerous Armada program, only for him to die on the battlefield before their remodeling was complete. Despite the dangers of continuing, they chose to have their spark modified and chassis rebuilt in the hopes of protecting others, if not their Amica, and by the end become known as Starvoid.
> 
> **Silver Starlight** : (Deceased) An Autobot jet who was transferred from recon to the frontliners fairly early in the war. Ironically, he was more concerned that his dear, impetuous Amica would try to follow him and get hurt than he was about his own life. A dour and serious person with little sense of humor but a much bigger spark than people tended to realized.
> 
> Fun fact: The "be one" in this collection's title refers to Starvoid Being A Ship.

"This nebula is pretty amazing," Rowback said, leaning back in his chair. The bridge was almost empty at the moment, Wiretap hooked into their console and too absorbed to pay active attention to him. To them.

Sunbow giggled at his side, leaning across the console dash next to him. "It's beautiful," she agreed, tipping her head at the front windowscreen, as if she weren't really seeing it through the thousands of cameras on her outer hull.

" _You're_ beautiful," Rowback countered, glancing down at the screen to make sure they were on course, more out of habitual diligence than actual doubt.

"You say that a lot," she murmured at his side, "but do you mean it?"

"How often do I say things I don't..." he trailed off as he looked up. The holoprojection at his side was no longer the sleek-lined silver form of Sunbow, but the dark violet bulk of Starvoid's bipedal alt mode.

(Some would call it her root mode, but was it really? When she spent vorns upon vorns in her ship form, to the point many assumed her a monoformer? When she cradled the crew in blast-proof shielding and swooped magnificently beneath his steady hands?)

It was almost hysterical, seeing the miles-long shipformer at his scale, but he was having trouble putting together a response. Starvoid tipped her violet helm to the side, gold optics that he knew were ten times his height in reality glinting at him.

"When you say I'm beautiful, do you mean Sunbow, or do you mean me?" Her true faceplates allow for little expression, but her holoform mouth twists into a decent approximation of a wicked smile; he can't tell if it's bittersweet intentionally or no, consider how difficult fine details are to project- "Or do you perhaps mean the me that you're inside right now?"

Rowback very carefully considers the question before answering.

 

"Bwuh?"

 

Starvoid's serious expression freezes, before she dissolves into giggles so hard that the avatar starts flickering. "I- you- ahahahahahahaha!" Her projected body hunches over, unable to force a clear sentence.

Rowback tries to rally, for all it feels like he's scrambling on solid ground turned rockslide. "I- I mean you- It's not a question I can-" He claps powder-blue hands over his steaming faceplates and groans.

"I-hahaha- you're, you're right, that wasn't a fair question," Starvoid finally manages, snickers still leaving her.

"I mean- I meant," he manages, "I meant that _you're_ beautiful. You."

"Starvoid?" she asks, tilting her head like a birdformer again.

"I just. You. Who you are." Rowback, rarely verbal at the best of times, is suddenly (ha) floundering for something that makes him sound like his brain module is actually engaged. He tried to gesture. "That I even know you is just. So amazing to me," he finally, helplessly manages to blurt.

Starvoid's smile is maybe a little off, but it's a hell of a relief.

"Did I ever tell you you're my favorite pilot?" she finally says, and he doesn't know where she's going with it but honestly he just likes hearing a question he knows how to answer.

"It sounds better every time you say it," he manages and she nods. "You said it's like a circuit connecting," he continues, gaze wandering from her avatar to her controls, controls he knows by spark by now, "and I... I feel like that, too."

"I love it when you fly me," she confirms, holoform against his side, almost as warm as the real thing. "I can always concentrate because I know you won't let me down. It just feels... right."

 

"I love you too," and oh god, that is not what he was supposed to say-

 

Hard light lips brush a kiss against his mouth. Her bubbling laughter echoes even as the avatar fades out.

"I love you, Rowback."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY I DIDN'T PLAN TO GET OVERTLY ROMANTIC WITH THIS BUT SURE. YOU CRAZY KIDS DO YOUR THING.
> 
>  
> 
> Sunbow is referred to in the highlight as 'them' bc they were questioning their gender at the time, but by the time Starvoid's remodel was finished, she was a she. Sunbow-the-hologram being referred to as 'she' is deliberate (bc the avatar is a projection of Starvoid as she is, not a past iteration of herself so much as a visual representation of.... idk, it makes it easier to relate to people one-on-one with it when they consider her based on her old size class rather than 'the ship we are currently inside of'?
> 
> ....I didn't plan very far BUT past!Sunbow = they, present!Sunbow/"Sunbow" = she).
> 
> Fun Fact: Many people assume Starvoid is a vehicle, but her programming actually leans more towards a _carrier_ type (like the boomboxes), because warships are less about how fat they can cross a (relatively) small area and more about keeping their internal crew alive and healthy.  
>  People who hurt her crew learn this the hard way. The VERY hard way.
> 
> The thought is that Starvoid has a loooooot of mental processes going ALL THE TIME because ship, so being properly crewed helps her focus and function better, but it's kind of hard to articulate correctly so sorry if that came off weird.


	16. Whirl and Suture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whirl avoids the medbay, but Suture has a schedule to keep.
> 
> Warnings for manhandling, I guess? I don't want to say medical coercion(???) but I can see how it would come off that way?

"Yeah?"

Whoever the hell was a-knocking at his door didn't answer. His optic focused and refocused, as if he could burn a hole in the metal to see through it. You know, Brainstorm might be able to-

 _Knock-knock_ , measured like a metronome, exactly 1 astrosecond between the first and second knock. Whirl was beyond twitching, but it was definitely grating on him. Or maybe that was the accumulated grit and dirt building up in his shoulder joints. Either-or.

" _What?_ " he snapped, throwing the door open, and only as it slid aside did he realize he hadn't actually grabbed the gun after that first knock.

Shining silver met his optic, and there was only one bot aboard this trash heap who looked like _that_. "What'dya want?" he growled, blocking the doorway with his body in case the medic decided she was welcome inside.

"Unit: Whirl is overdue for maintenance," was all she said, optics boring into him. Guh, her unfiltered gaze was as piercing as _Rung's_ , and those weird white optics didn't help matters.

"What's your point?" Whirl folded his arms best he could and leaned insolently against the doorway, arranging his limbs to look as spiky and looming as possible without being _obvious_ about it.

He'd almost forgotten the memos popping up on his HUD, he'd dismissed them so quick - and, to be honest, he'd never expected anyone to follow through on it. He thought those were automated.

...problem. For all his lankiness when uncoiled, he wasn't actually taller than Suture. She could, and did, look him in the optic without him actually being able to loom _over_ her.

"Unit: Whirl is 90 days overdue for maintenance," she repeated, pale optics steady and fancy faceplates _completely_ going to waste with no expression. Actually, scratch that; Magnus just kinda looked miffed when he didn't emote, but she could actually pull off that silent scary enforcer thing when she wan- "Unit: Whirl is instructed to report for maintenance immediately."

"Nah, I'm good," he said, breaking the sightline to flick his claws as if inspecting the paintwork.

She didn't even _frown_.

"Patient: Whirl will comply with maintenance or Medical Officer: Suture will ensure it."

"Are you _threatenin'_ me, doc?" He tapped a clawpoint into her chest, marring the chrome finish just above her Autobrand. "Points for doin' it with a straight face, but negative like a million cause I _know_ bluffs."

He really should have been watching her face. "This unit does not bluff."

Whirl, eyes more on the hallway than the medic, snorted derisively (or, well, huffed through his vents to mimic a snort. Same dif). "Yeah, well, either prove it or leave me the frag aloo _oooo_ -!?!"

Whirl tried to kick, but four million years plus of experience with mechs fresh off (and too often _on_ ) the battlefield meant Suture knew exactly how to grab even _his_ weird frame to decimate his leverage. He shook his not-helm side to side, but couldn't actually do much with it. His elbows bounced right off her war-grade armor. "The _frag_ is this!?"

"This unit is taking the first option."

" _I can walk._ "

"That assertion is not backed by contemporary medical reports," she quipped back, making him stare and forget how to speak for a moment. (23.4 astroseconds.)

"Let me down and I'll prove it to you."

"Patient: Whirl had 90 days to walk to medbay under own power," she said, and for all her complete and absolute lack of inflection, he could _hear_ the fake sweetness of it. Oh, this medic was _cheeky!_ "Suggestion: Report to maintenance in a punctual manner to avoid being carried."

Whirl _stared_ at her, gold optic locked on that blank silver face. And then he started to laugh.

"Ya know what, doc?" he said, whacking her pauldron with the back of one claw, "You're all right."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to comment on Suture's expressiveness (between her nature + some trauma it's pretty low) but keeping in Whirl's personality feels... overly mean/kinda ableist? I tried but idk if I succeeded.


	17. Brainstorm and Flightpath (plus Lowroad)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brainstorm gives Flightpath a _hand_ with recovery.  
>  Eh? Eh?
> 
> CHARACTER SPOTLIGHT:  
>  **Flightpath** : A Neutral shuttleformer and Empurata victim. Punished by the Council for refusing their 'assignment' (being their personal limousine indefinitely and probably permanently), they didn't bother to replace his face or hands before locking him into shuttle mode. He's adjusting.  
>  **Lowroad** : A definitely-Neutral-definitely-not-former-Decepticon minicar. Flightpath saved him in the vacuum of space and he made sure that Flightpath got un-stuck. Can, will, and has fought people who try to coerce his new friend into doing things based on his size or alt mode.

"Are you going to throw that?" a curious voice asks, making Flightpath jump. His fingers tighten further around the creaking edges of the (too small, too small, everything is made on a scale _too small for him-_ ) datapad.

The bot, at least, is smart enough not to have gotten close before startling him. He waves a cheery greeting at the shuttle as Flightpath forces himself to decompress a little. Peripheral vision - he's not used to having it again (or seeing out of his optics at all...).

"Sorry, wasn't trying to scare you."

"Mmph." Flightpath rolls his shoulders. "Not gonna... throw it," he rasps.

"Shame, I've been working on shatterproof datapads and more data is always good!" the strange mech chirps, taking advantage of Flightpath's awareness to get into his personal space. He cranes over the shuttle's arm to take a look at the 'pad screen. "Ha, should have known," he said, in the voice of someone who already knew and wants everyone around him to be intimately aware of the fact, "Percy's a great scientist, brilliant mind, but he's not up to date on post-Empurata recovery techniques."

Everything about this bot is lighting up warning flags in his processor. Flightpath tries not to, but he ends up edging away a bit. "You're Brainstorm?"

The smaller flier lights up. "You've heard of me!"

"Unfor-tunately _very little_ ," Flightpath fumbles, hoping the recovery went unnoticed under how _slow_ his convalescing vocalizer still ran. He carefully sets the datapad down on the narrow bench and turns his attention on the other flier. "What can I help you with?"

If Brainstorm caught his slip, he graciously lets it go. "The question, in fact, is how _I_ can help _you!_ "

"Re...ally." Definitely warning flags. Not the malice of the Enforcers who dragged him off to Empurata, but the arguably-more-dangerous enthusiasm preceding half an apartment block accidentally going up in smoke. He certainly can't take his optics - visor, really - off the other bot.

"Indeed!" Flightpath chokes back a flinch when Brainstorm dramatically thrusts a hand into his subspace and yanks out...

"...a ring puzzle?"

The orange and blue mech nods rapidly. "Even if I hadn't seen you having trouble with my contemporary's well-intention-but-ultimately-doomed attempt," he says, nodding at the datapad on the other side of the shuttle, the display still lit with the puzzle program, "I knew mere games would not be enough. And so!" He flourishes the jingling assemblage, which Flightpath now realizes is scaled to _shuttle hands_ , "While nothing particularly fancy, it's sized to suit you much better than a mid-size datapad, the polymer alloy is resistant to a high degree of pressure and will simply snap back when released- not to mention the metal will change color based on the amount of pressure applied!"

Blinking at the rapid stream of data, Flightpath unthinkingly accepts the puzzle from him. His shoulders jolt as he registers- all sorts of things, texture, temperature, _weight_. Half-awed, Flightpath's fingers dance down the side of one of the rings, then another, tactile feedback feeling like it strengthens with each pass.

It's so much better than the slick flat expanse of the 'pad screen. Trying his best not to put his fingers _through_ the 'pad while applying enough pressure for the program to register his touch.

It was more of an exercise in _patience_ than tactile ability, is what he's getting at.

So enamored is he with the puzzle that he misses Lowroad's approach until the mini is right beneath him, slipping under his arm and between the walls of his legs to point suspiciously at Brainstorm, who is not _nearly_ cowed enough.

Clearly he hasn't heard about Lowroad yet.

"Is this guy bothering you?" the minicar demands, visor narrowing as he studies the scientist. "'Cause I can do something about that."

"N- no, no, it's,,, okay, Lowroad," he forces out. Putting the ring puzzle down, even just into his lap, is harder than making his voice say words. Lowroad glances at the jumble of metal but fixes his gaze on Flightpath's face. "Brainstorm just... came by to... give me this."

"What's in it for you?" the minimech immediately turns on Brainstorm again, who has the sense to raise his hands in a common placation gesture this time.

"Well, it's only a prototype," the scientist says, and okay, he hasn't _really_ caught on, but he continues before Lowroad's suspicion can amp further. "I've got _far_ more advanced versions in mind, just you wait!"

"...for ring puzzles?" Flightpath asks dubiously.

"Of course!" Brainstorm stands back up and taps a thumb to his chestplates. "And much, much more. You can look forward to it!" and before either of them can formulate a coherent response to _that_ , the scientist is beating pedes back to his lab or... wherever, humming a jaunty tune.

"...do you think he realizes you're not gonna need 'em eventually?" Lowroad manages, still staring at the flier's retreat.

"...maybe... we don't tell him just... yet."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Having a tough time picking between 'Flightpath' and 'Flightplan', but the former seems the best option.
> 
> Flightpath's continuity is pretty dubious yet, but the most likely option is that he spent several million years in shuttle mode before someone both a) recognized that he was alive and b) actually tried to help him.  
> Yeah.
> 
> This chapter was completely different before I cut out the slack and cut out the chase. It still wordy, but in a way that makes sense given, yanno, Brainstorm.


	18. Rowback

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy place.
> 
> Warnings for something along the lines of alien body dysphoria/prejudice maybe?

People talked about 'happy places' when it came to therapy, recovery, calming oneself.

Later, of course, his happy place is obviously, blatantly _Starvoid._

(Even more specifically, if far less known: his happy place is the room that houses her Spark and main computer banks. More than once he's recharged on the little pull-out berth in there than his own room, the gentle thrum of her life soothing him to restfulness. Her soft sighs in his audials, her relaxing just a touch knowing that he is in the safest part of her.)

\---

Before Starvoid, he didn't have a happy place.

Or, more accurately, his happy place didn't exist. Not really.

\---

The water closes over his head and his sub-marine optic filters click on and he suddenly feels more awake than he has in vorns. Awake, and yet, drowsily detached, floating just a bit outside of his own body.

(He doesn't have to think about his own body. Not right here. Not right now. Not all alone...)

The vent lines on his arm-wings pulse red and he shoots through the water, feeling the drag against his paneling. He doesn't engage his leg movitators just yet, content to drift more than really swim.

For a moment, all alone in the lake, in a place his body is meant to dwell, he feels...

...not happy. But comfortable.

Just for a moment.

\---

His hometown is real. Sometimes, living there, he desperately wishes he wasn't. It hurts less than wishing for the sleek lines and screaming engines of the speedsters at every turn. Hurts less than the looks that rake his pale, blobby body in a world of streamlined red.

\---

His hometown is real. Was real, before the war. He doesn't know anymore, deliberately and then automatically not keeping up with it.

Keep up with what? With who? With a world that thought him less before he even onlined? With one of the maybe two dozen other mechs who were- like him? Wrong, incorrect, unsuited to the area. **_Slow_**.

\---

His happy place wasn't real, but it was more real to him than his sparkplace.

It was his sparkplace.

The place that rejected him from before he was even alive - his happy place was that place, devoid of life. Empty and pocked with craters, craters that filled with cool fluid and wild grasses.

His happy place was his hometown, empty and dead of his ' _own kind'_   and half-submerged, high-rise highways dipping into the water as if inviting him to drive in, fully revel in his hybrid alt mode. A place where, whether aquacar or misshaped bot, he could swim and dip and dive and paddle without the slightest fear of reprisal. Of judgement.

\---

Rowback's happy place is the warm, calm Spark Chamber of someone he can barely believe he's falling in love with, protected on all sides and surrounded by bots he cherishes and trusts.

It's hard to believe he could ever find such a thing, and he swears to himself that he'll never let it go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact time: This was supposed to be about him swimming and became this instead. Idk.
> 
> Before I knew about Velocitron I figured Rowback came from a city a lot like it... I don't know enough about it to formulate a solid HC yet but open to interpretation.
> 
> Rowback's backstory came to me in bits and pieces and I'm not sure about keeping this but I think it will work out...


	19. Suture (and the Functionists)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's several ways Suture's backstory can go. Sometimes she just doesn't remember how she was sparked - whether due to information creep or corrupted memories.
> 
> This is one way.
> 
> Warnings: Implications of emotional abuse, mostly re: neglect

They'd wanted a politician.

Glib-glossaed, flirtatiously -or powerfully, or both- charismatic, adept at smoothing out the truth.

The Senate was becoming a problem for them. They needed more mechanisms in their court, more movers and shakers in the 'people's government'. And what better way than to bring those very bots to life as needed?

Someone who would listen to them and agree with them - out of aligned morals or cupidity - someone who could turn their big, sharp-edged dreams into soft energel bites for the dull-witted masses, someone who could manipulate enemies and allies (often the same bot) in the political arena-

They forgot. It would be _hilariously_ ironic later, to the one bot who knew. _They forgot a facet of their own Function_.

 

Requests could be made, but Vector Sigma did not meet **_demands_**.

 

He did not take commissions. They asked, and he gave.

 

They wanted a goldenbot pundit, a legislative puppet to pull-

They got Suture.

They got Suture. Suture who will not, or could not, tell a lie; Suture who, to another point of ironic delight, suited her Function to perfection - a doctor, a bot who cared about the well-being of others regardless of their caste. Suture for whom 'function' was so satisfying- until she learned what Function was.

 

In some worlds, they attempt to mold her to their wills, 'educate' her based on their desires. It doesn't work out - it leaves her empty and broken, feeling the weight of failure, until a former miner holds out his hand and tells her on no uncertain terms that _everyone_ has **something** to contribute.

In some worlds, they assign her the role nonetheless - for if she does not fulfill the Function they presume, then they have failed. This expounds upon itself, for if they contradict her, later and later into her strangely successful career, it means admitting a mistake. _And they do not make mistakes_.

In some worlds, they cut her off, allow her to finish medical school not too long before a world-shattering war breaks loose. Here too, she flourishes on the field, surviving more than they ever expected her to.

 

Sometimes she knows the truth, and sometimes she believes the lie, but in every world it's the same:

 

She may not be what they _asked_ for, but she is exactly what was intended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow this ended up really dramatic.
> 
> I've noticed a common meta exchange in Transformers, at least regarding G1 and the IDW Comics, is
> 
> Fans: So how _exactly_ do Cybertronians come into being?  
>  Writers: They sure do.
> 
>  
> 
> (Also I know next to nothing about Vector Sigma aside from MTMTE+LL and some scraps in fanfic.)


	20. Wildroar and Lectern

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She's serious about this (she's always serious about her).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **CHARACTER SPOTLIGHT** :  
>  **Wildroar** : A Decepticon commander with a lion alt mode. Dubious of her own tactical skills, she chose Lectern to act as her tactician and second. Her trust for Lectern is stronger than her own ~~muscles~~ power. Thinks Deathsaurus is just, like, the coolest.  
>  **Lectern** : A Decepticon subcommander and tactician with a laser pointer alt mode. Believes Wildroar underestimates her own abilities and worth and looks forward to seeing that potential realized. Strong sexy-librarian/teacher vibe, not helped by the sheer number of whips and crops in her possession.
> 
> \---
> 
> Warnings: Wildroar is an Unreliable Narrator in that she doubts her own intelligence (Lectern definitely does not). I tried to be careful but I understand that this can read badly so hmu if you have editing ideas.
> 
> (also a whole ton of goopy romance a la Decepticon warriors)

"Tired?"

Wildroar looked down, into Lectern's curious gaze, and then back at the city skyline. Not-so-distant work crews slowly put her supposed home planet back together, piece by piece.

She ran one huge, clawed hand over her mane. "Mmmm.... more like still processing it all. Everything's changed so fast." She grinned at her maybe-former second. "But like they say, adapt or die, right?"

Many bots, regardless of faction, felt only cold fear when the little laser pointer smiled - for Wildroar, it made her spark lurch in its casing. "Indeed. For example, I never anticipated becoming a warrior, nor was forged -nor rebuilt- for it. Yet, thanks to both my own adaption and your help," she laid one small hand in the crook of her former commander's elbow, "I not only managed it but survived to see its end."

Wildroar felt her mouth crook into a warm grin as she placed one hand over Lectern's. "I like how you have your teaching voice on," she teased- Lectern's ability to adapt ideas to shapes she could process had been even more invaluable than the laser pointer's tactical expertise. The subcommander had rapidly discovered that Wildroar understood fastest when given a chain of examples from something the understood to the subject, and the end of the war hadn't stopped her: Lectern had been equally indispensable in explaining concepts like how to interact with civilians, fanciful fuel types, and and the concept of artisans to the MTO.

As if reading her regard, Lectern actually _winked_ at her, startling a surprised and pleased little rumble from the beastformer. "So I did. I suppose I should cut back on that," she said nonetheless, patting her free hand over Wildroar's - and then looking up in mild surprise when Wildroar withdrew her touch.

"No," she said softly, making sure to keep Lectern's gaze this time. "I always appreciate your help and advice. But you know, Lectern... without the war, you technically don't have to follow me." She uneasily flexed her hands at her sides, but the rest of her was Cybertron-steady. "If there's anything you want to do, anywhere you want to go, with or without me, I won't stop you, you know? No, that's wrong-" she shook her head "-I...will support you. That's how I meant that."

The laser pointer listened patiently, and then - and this was one of the things Wildroar loved best about her - carefully considered the information before responding. "There are places I wish to go and things I wish to do," she admitted easily, fingers tapping her chin as the other hand supported her elbow, "albeit later, when the planetary condition as a whole is more stable." She looked Wildroar up and down in a way the beastformer knew was her tactical analysis thing, and didn't it just make her spark soar? "If you no longer wish for my company, you merely need say so. Otherwise, my dear no-longer-commander" she smirked roguishly at the bigger bot, "I'm afraid you're stuck with me."

"I want to stay with you," Wildroar said seriously, lowering herself to one knee - and still not meeting her partner's height - as she spoke. "I want to learn more from you- and with you. But not as your commander."

"...I want that too," Lectern said, voice and optics going soft in a way very few had ever been privy to. She laid one narrow hand on Wildroar's shoulder. "And I mean that. I want to learn from you and with you, as well."

Wildroar felt her vents catch and stutter, but managed to keep her voice steady as she withdrew something from its hidden compartment. Lectern, ever-steady, barely spared it a glance, let alone the bristling distrust any other warrior would have given the action. She pressed it into beloved little servoes as she spoke. "Then I want you to have this."

Lectern didn't _need_ to look at it, already turning purple metal over in her fingers, but she did anyways, optics wide and flaring slightly. "Your badge?"

Wildroar nodded seriously. "It- you already know this, but- it was taken from my spark casing. It- it's a tracker, but it's still a part of me. A part I want you to have." With the infinite care of long practice, she gently folded the other bot's fingers over the sparkmetal, optics never leaving her second's slowly blooming face. "I don't know about this- these conjux rites thing, but- it- can it really- No." She shook her head decisively. "A ritual created by some stranger isn't better than this. I entrust myself to you, Lectern, as I ever have."

She pressed her lips to thin blue-black fingers, and marveled that she'd never seen Lectern _tremble_ before, not outside of taking critical damage. "You don't have to do anything, but-"

"No, I- wait," and there was another new one - the only time she'd ever heard Lectern sound so unsure was on frantic dashes to the medbay, laser pointer failing in her arms- something she never wanted to revisit, to be honest-

Lectern freed a hand and _fumbled_ before withdrawing her own badge, and Wildroar's optics flared with delight even as her vents stuttered again. "I didn't have plans for it, to be honest," as if her partner had ever been dishonest with her, and oh that smile would spell the end of her, "This is- it's a marvelous idea, my dear. My love. My conjux," she almost whispered, and her fingers trembled just as strongly as the golden palm she pressed the violet shard into. She pressed a kiss the gilt fingers as they curled around the sigil, optics turning mischievous, and Wildroar felt her whole spark flip in its casing. "If you will have me, I will have you, my partner, my second."

"And I you, my partner, my second," Wildroar managed, and then couldn't help but pull the love of her life into a fierce, beaming kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wildroar was originally (as in... early yesterday) named Tirade, but that's more of a combo name imo. Maybe if they have a kid.
> 
> Visual inspiration for Wildroar would be Backlash's Betty (but Betty is probably nicer): http://biteghost.tumblr.com/post/172766484647/shes-a-brick-h-o-u-s-e-from-my-webcomic  
>  ~~one day I'll get html links to actually work here and then no one will be able to stop me~~
> 
> You KNOW Lectern did the foot-pop on that kiss >v>


	21. Wildroar and Lectern: Human Edition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rory Tirado decides to try new things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is basically just "Gay Crisis: The Chapter"

Rory groaned and rolled her head. Maybe she _should_ work on stretching more - it felt like bending over to do a lift or grab a weight made all her tendons light up. "Not to mention how much it's gonna screw me if I really do get back into wrestling..." she muttered half-consciously as she paged through the gym newsletter. Maybe there was... let's see, aquarobics, soccer, kid's archery- ah!

\---

"Uh, hi?" Rory poked her head into the room. A few if the occupants glanced up from where they were setting up thin mats on the floor, but one standing at the far end of the room turned around, at which point Rory promptly forgot how words worked.

They picked their way gracefully through the minor labyrinth of bodies and mats to smile at her. "Here for Yoga 101?"

"Th- yeah- that's me," she stuttered, unconsciously straightening her spine as they looked down at a clipboard she hadn't noticed. "T- um, under Tirado? She/her."

"Rory, is it?" The likely-instructor smiled at her - _up_ at her, which was a mild surprise, because their presence had just bowled her over.

"My friends call me Wild," is the first thing Rory's idiot mouth can manage, and the best she can recover is to not actually flinch on the outside.

"Oh? Should I call you 'Wild' too, then?" the instructor's grin is positively _wicked,_ not to mention knee-melting.

Rory works her mouth drily for several seconds before blurting out "YES", overloud and making her feel like a huge nuisance but they're giggling.

"Wild it is, then. I'm Elle Pointer, she/her, and I'll be your instructor tonight." Rory manages to shake her hand without crushing anything and tries to pay attention as the instructor points out the mat placement and outlines some of the basics- "-and I'd like permission to touch you, if possible."

"..." Rory's brain eventually reengages. " _Come again?_ " and this time she really does wince as her voicebox decides to do its best teakettle impression.

Ms. Pointer is definitely laughing at her, but she has the good grace not to do it out loud. "To correct your form more directly. You don't have to," she adds while Rory tries to cudgel her brain into wording right.

"I- sure, you can put your hands on my form any time," Rory says, and doesn't understand why Ms. Pointer chuckles at that (until about 6 hours later, right as she tries to fall asleep).

"Good to know." She makes a mark on the clipboard and gestures to the rolled-up mats for those who, like Rory, didn't bring their own. "You'll also want to hang that jacket up, it'll only get in your way," she adds.

"Right." Rory tugs off the flannel as she goes, hanging it on the convenient coathook halfway to the mats. Just as her fingers light on rolled foam, she realizes the room has gone silent, though conversation resumes (a little overloud) the moment she glances back.

(So intent is she on getting ready that she doesn't notice the number of eyes watching her shoulders roll as she smooths out the mat.)

\---

It takes about four classes before Rory can manage more than a rushed, retreating "Goodnight!" when gaining Ms. Pointer's attention at the end of a class. She's rolling up her mat, eyes locked on the foam as she stutters out a vague "so what do you like to do when you're not tying me in knots?".

Ms. Pointer's soft chuckle has a way of short-circuiting her brain. "I like to read. Lately I've been studying a good deal of ancient Greek poetry."

Rory's brain lights up. She picked up _some_ stuff while learning to wrestle - c'mon, Rory, contribute to the conversation!

"Like Sappho?"

RORY NO. WHAT WERE YOU THINKING. YOU ABSOLUTE-

Ms. Pointer's giggle makes her shiver a little. " _Precisely_ like Sappho, actually. Here," she adds, pulling out a scrap of cardstock and pressing it into Rory's hand, "why don't you call me sometime so we could... discuss it more?"

Pointer chuckles again and leaves to consult with another student; it takes Rory a solid two minutes before she remembers what she'd been doing before.

\---

"Oh, Wild, dear. Did you want to borrow that volume?" Elle asked, eyes crinkling with a warm smile for her favorite student. They'd had surprisingly illuminating - not to mention _fun_ \- conversations over poetry these last few weeks. Elle wasn't sure which she liked better: 'Wild's' intriguing interpretation of different poetry forms, or her adorably flustered attempts at flirting-

"Actually." The taller woman canted her head to the side, surprisingly unruffled for once, then caught Elle's eye with a shy smile. "Would you like to go to dinner after everyone's out? Like, as a date," she adds.

And Elle, for once in her life, actually forgets how to speak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harold they're (flustered as all hell) lesbians
> 
> 'Rory' is bulky and tall and _maybe_ Hispanic? I referenced weightlifters, Greco-Roman wrestlers, and some similar athletes for her - wide shoulders, very tall, muscular, but bulky rather than body-builder-y.  
>  'Elle' is built more like a gymnast (also while trying to draw her I ended up referencing Aamito Lagum). She's kind of lanky, high cheekbones and very dark skin. She's actually on the average/short side but Rory looks up to her metaphorically.
> 
> I'm working on drawing them but it's going slow so: writing!


	22. Tailgate and Sweepback

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Bro!” The new mini shouldered his way expertly through the block of midsizes to confront his effective double. Sweepback held out both servos, closed into fists, and with only the briefest moment of hesitation Tailgate lifted his own hands and bumped knuckles with him. Sweepback laughed and slung an arm around Tailgate’s shoulder. “Dude, I cannot **remember** the last time I saw one of our frametypes! And you’re a bomb disposal variant!?” he added, pointing to Tailgate’s arm, “That’s fraggin’ awesome! You have to tell me **everything**.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Except from an incomplete LL+Starvoid crew fic.
> 
> Character Revisit:  
>  **Sweepback** : Autobot custodian, sharpshooter, and occasional field medic. Known by his crewmates as "the most energetic mech alive" and "Sweepback NO". Built on the same lines as Tailgate.

"Thanks for this, by the way."

Sweepback lit up. "Of course!" He slapped a hand good-naturedly on Tailgate's shoulder, brisk but light. "Anything to help a bro, yo!" He broke into a brief fit of laughter.

Sliding another crate back, he added, "Jokes aside, I'm always happy to help! And Starvoid's fabrication is great - had to pop these all out bulk, but it ended up working out," he shoved yet another crate on top of the rejected stack, "what with all of us. And, uh, me, specifically."

Tailgate paused in his own work to take a closer look at Sweepback. He, like a surprisingly large squadron of other minis, had been built on literally the same lines as Tailgate. While it was kind of weird to think of copies of him and his batchmates being popped out en masse, it was certainly helpful at this particular juncture. Although...

"Hey, Sweepback? There's, like, two and a half crates out of an order of fifty that wasn't even that long ago. What's up with that?"

His double glanced back at the indicated boxes and then shrugged. "Freakin' left legs, I don't know either," he said simply, then returned to trying to find the right match - literally.

"...you scare me sometimes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it kinda came out rough so: Sweepback is kindly volunteering to give Tailgate some of his back-up legs, since it really feels like Ratchet made something fast rather than actually matching his legs. /headcanon


	23. Belt (and Alpha Trion and Optimus Prime, sorta)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CHARACTER SPOTLIGHT:  
>  **Belt** : A Neutral doctor with a soft spark and a mysterious past. Has a patch welded over where his left optic should be, an old wound he hasn't had a chance to fix.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: This chapter, in specific, refers to the idea of direct parentage (creators-sparklings) in the TF universe. No major details.
> 
> Also, **WARNING** : References to kidnapping in _very_ early infancy, immoral medical decisions, and attached issues.
> 
> Based on the idea (ref: Gemmy_Inkyboots & raisedbymoogles' Alt-Vos Saga, particularly Knight Aspirant (https://archiveofourown.org/works/10902939/chapters/24238719) ) of Alpha Trion altering Orion Pax while he was almost dead and not feeling the least bit sorry re: the ethical implications of violating medical consent that way. **I'm not up to that part in G1 yet and this is pretty much entirely based on what I have encountered in Fandom.**
> 
> Finally, Belt tends towards more fluid gender, typically trending towards more masculine terms and presentation overall ("he" and "son" crop up a lot).

He'd tried a lot of names on for size. Names, feelings, self-awareness. They went by a lot of things: Toolkit, Toolbelt, Fanbelt, the list went on.

The only thing that ever seemed to stick was "belt", so he was Belt. It worked, in a fashion; brought to mind the spinning of fan belts under his healing hands, of scrap material slung around what spare parts he could find, of the assorted tools sometimes affixed around his waist. Of the tunes, pouring, sometimes soft and sometimes strong, from his vox as they pressed to work.

He, she, they, zi, found it acceptable. More and more, comfortable.

 

Better than Exosyzygy, he thinks.

 

Those thoughts turn him back to his mentor, the memories bitter and ashen in his brainpan.

The old mech had been a genius. Even now, Belt grudgingly made use of the knowledge he'd pressed on them, using his lessons to both modify himself and heal zir patients. Belt comforted themself with the knowledge that they did what Alpha Trion did not, would not have.

Exosyzygy had learned the definition of "self-emancipation" hot on the heels of "medical consent", and hadn't looked back.

 

"Did you hear?"

"Mm? Can you lift your shoulder just a micron more...? Wonderful, thank you." Belt bent over his patient, carefully sweeping more debris out of the joint.

The other Neutral gripped his free arm, optics alight. "Did you hear?"

"Hear what?" they ask, absently, carefully snaking the tool in to snag one last shard of broken metal.

"Optimus Prime is in Iacon," the patient whispered, trembling a little. They don't stop, even when she lets them down, task complete. Their optics are alight with excitement, maybe religious fervor. "I know he's- the war, but-"

"Are you faithful, love?" he asks, wiping his tools down, affecting a friendly-enough smile. They nod fervently, clasp little hands just under where a chin would be.

"Mm-hm! I just want to... see his face, just once, you know?" They look down, suddenly shy. Belt's smile gentles.

"I don't think that will be the answer to all your questions," he says, tone kind as he can make it. "But I'll pray for your success."

The Neutral cups their fingers over where a mouth might go and _giggles_. "Thank you, Doctor!" they trill, popping up to their not-inconsiderable height. They lean down and press the side of their helm to his, like a kiss on the cheek, before drawing back. "You're very kind."

"I try," he agrees, feeling the exhaustion in his struts. "Be safe out there, love."

 

Belt doesn't go to see Optimus Prime. Not yet. Not now.

There's a war on. He's not a warrior. He refuses to side with either party, especially at the fever pitch it's rising to.

Besides, he's not _Optimus Prime's_ son.

Primes don't have sparklings. That was the whole point, wasn't it, that the slag-swilling _fragger_ pulled him out to begin with?

 

The Matrix doesn't share space.

 

The doctor watches the edges of the crowd, a suprisingly-mixed press of Autobot, Neutral, and even a handful of faithful Decepticons. He cleans his tools, humming a little tune, and turns back to his clinic.

 

Not yet.


	24. DireDiamond and the Twins (ft Cliffjumper and Ironhide)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Character Highlight:  
>  **DireDiamond** : AKA DiamondDrill. A stoic Decepticon with a startling resemblance to Megatron and a secret or two of her own.  
>  **ShatterGlass** : ShatterShield's twin sister. Shows more initiative but gets frustrated easily. A victim of unethical experimentation. DireDiamond's cohort.  
>  **ShatterShield** : ShatterGlass's twin sister. More irate but more staying power. A victim of unethical experimentation. DireDiamond's cohort.

"I don't trust 'em!" Cliffjumper hissed, heedless of anyone overhearing. "None of 'em, but especially not that big Megatron clone-" DireDiamond's optics narrowed but she said nothing, "or those creepy twins! Can't even hardly tell them apart!"

"Cliffjumper." Ironhide rested a hand on the table, trying to tamp down obvious irritation. "We're tryin' at this peace thing, alright? Just... try?"

"We appreciate it," DireDiamond said, voice carrying even at her low pitch. She raised her cube of energon in recognition. "To a long and fruitful alliance," she said, Decepticon brand still visible on her chestplate.

Ironhide nodded and turned back to Cliffjumper. "'sides, it's easy to tell 'em apart! ShatterGlass has the antenna on her left side and ShatterShield has the antenna on her right!"

Trailbreaker looked up with a faint frown. "Are you sure? I thought it was the other way around."

"Yeah, 'Shield is definitely the one with it on her left," someone else said. Ironhide scowled and stood up, looming over the table.

"I know what I saw," he snapped, "an' I _do_ actually know my left from my right, thanks very much."

There was a sound like a finger on the rim of the wineglass, redirecting his attention to the selfsame twins, and partially to DireDiamond, who appeared to be... choking?

"Um," the one of the left said, raising the hand not locked with her sister's - the pair's perennial bickering had simmered down at some point - "do you want"

"to see a secret?" the other finished. At least they weren't alternating every word for once.

Without further ado, each reached up to her respective antenna _and snapped it off_. At least one Autobot yelped in surprise. Ironhide gaped slightly.

Each reached to her sister and snapped the antenna from her own head on her twin's, left to right and right to left.

Silence reigned in the rec room for a moment.

"They're _detachable!?_ " someone shrilled in shock, and DireDiamond absolutely **lost it** , pounding on the table and howling with laughter as increasingly loud snickers burbled from the smaller pair.

Ironhide thunked his head onto the table. So much for _that_ theory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ended up more about the 'bots than the girls whoops but I really wanted to write this scene because I also lost it when it came to mind.
> 
> Funfax: DireDiamond has a 100% accuracy rating when telling twins apart, these two as well as the cassettes, etc. (She also deliberately alternates the name order every time she addresses it)
> 
> Further trivia: Originally DireDiamond either was, or was the close friend (Amica? Conjux?) of a femme named Shattershield, or possibly Shatterglass. I didn't write hardly anything about that pair and totally forgot the primary character's name, so DD's everything is a rework of that old, old storyline.


	25. FritzFlight, TapOut, TreadShreds, and Gyro

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CHARACTER REVISIT:  
>  **FritzFlight** : An Autobot MTO flyer who cares about TapOut, Gyrostatic, his brothers, and pretty much no one else. Has unreality issues when alone for too long.  
>  **TapOut** : An Autobot MTO triple-changer (bomber/humvee) with four arms and an inferiority complex. Close friends to FritzFlight and Gyrostatic.  
>  **TreadShreds** : An Autobot tank with outrageous strength and a sunny disposition. Formerly a miner, of sorts. Could absolutely kill Megatron.  
>  **Gyrostatic** : An Autobot Empurata survivor and helicopter. Medic. Kind but tired. Has a forest of ancillary limbs and a ring of optics/cameras.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _"I don't recharge, I only defrag"_ \- FritzFlight probably.
> 
> (I'm thinking I'll stick to this way of doing names for now for clarity+simplicity.)

TapOut visibly deflated. "I'd love to, but..." she gestured at her entire body. "I can't... really fit.

"Maybe TreadShreds will go?"

\---

"...where did you just come from?"

All three of the bots glanced over to him. Gyro's arms rustled as he turned more fully to face them, optical ring adjusting slightly.

"The tunnels?" TreadShreds ventures, taking another step up, clearing the last of the descent stairs. She turned carefully to glance at FritzFlight.

Not to offer him a hand up - he leveraged his grip on her shoulder to finish his own ascent, her undersized frame not even shifting with the weight.

His hand left a patch of discoloration as he pulled away. As if it had been there a long, long time.

"... _why_ were you in the tunnels? Actually, no, why were _you_ -" he rippled a tendril to point at FritzFlight "-in the tunnels? You're a _flier_." Like him, he thought with a minute shudder.

FritzFlight stared at him, optics blank. "Existing at ground level and existing below ground level are so similar as to carry no meaningful difference," he said. "I wanted to look around. TreadShreds came with me. She was....nice."

"I AM, aren't I?" The tank propped her little fists on stocky hips and grinned up at the Seeker-like.

Gyro, not for the first nor the last time, wished he had the ability to facepalm.

Well. At least he was making friends?


	26. Suture, Boon, and Bane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CHARACTER HIGHLIGHTS:  
>  **Boon** : A brilliant Cybertronian scientist of no affiliation. He is inextricably linked with his partner, Bane.  
>  **Bane** : A brilliant Cybertronian scientist(?) of no affiliation. He is inextricably linked with his partner, Boon.
> 
> Character revisit:  
>  **Suture** : An Autobot medic (ambulance). Stiff of speech and motion, but deeply kind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter gets into surgery, patient death, and some rather shocking murder. Nothing super-graphic, but just so you know. Also, gestalt trials-flavor experimentation.
> 
> Story takes place pre-War: Sometimes, Suture's overseers (the Functionists) take issue with her preferred use of her time, such as running/assisting free clinics and helping the unfortunate. Sometimes, they call upon brilliant researcher and scientist Boon to help coax her potential to full bloom.

Head Researcher Boon was an enigma. He'd been nothing but pleasant, despite her instinctual knowledge that this assignment was a punishment. He'd given her tasks she was more than capable of, called upon her expertise more than once. (Functionism was a broken thing, an ideal corrupted before it'd even seen implementation, but she still liked making herself useful.)

That said, the longer she worked here, on Boon's strange private lab/airship hybrid, the stranger her tasks became. More than once, she'd completed a fairly simple task, yet couldn't fight a feeling of deep unease as she walked away.

And what of Bane? The Head Researcher's partner was said to be inseparable from him, yet she'd never met him even once.

 

Months passed. Her tasks passed from innocuous to disquieting to outright concerning. Bane had yet to present himself. Boon simply chuckled and deflected whenever she brought him up.

 

Suture's tanks churned as she pressed to the newest task (though no one would know, to look at her).

_"Suggestion for Head Researcher: desist current experiment."_

_Boon had chuckled, curling one long finger under his chin, as he was wont. "Yes, it's dangerous, of course, my dear. But that is why you are here! To help mitigate the risk."_

_Suture had scowled, fingers pressed in tight fists at her sides. "Further objection: ethical implications of experimentation."_

_"Like I said-" the old, older mech grunted as he pulled the lever, much to her displeasure, "-that's where you come in. Mitigating the risk mitigates the ethical implications, as you so succinctly put it." His ever-present robes fluttered as he stepped back, before he shuffled over to the computer banks. Boon shot her a glance, an amused smile, and she couldn't help the rising dread. "Now hop to it, my dear."_

She'd gone, of course. She could do nothing else. To abandon these mecha to succumb to their wounds was simply unthinkable. But if she worked fast enough, every bot would recover fully-

"Move to the next one."

Suture's hands continued to work as she swiveled her head to the side. She didn't unbend from her hunched posture over the patient - one unconsciously protective, and she needed to have a good long think about _that_.

"No. Patient is-"

Boon pulled one hand out of his robes. "-capable of making-"

"The combiner has failed. Move to the next one." "-a full-"

The blaster shot hit the fuel tank, almost directly under the patient's spark. It buried in the open chassis, exactly between Suture's hands.

Everything ground to a halt.

"-recovery," her vocal processor finished.

Sensitive medic's hands, buried in the chassis of a patient, felt that patient die. Aftershocks from the blaster and more vibrated up her arms, leaving her shoulders numb and her head strangely light.

"The next one."

For a sparkpulse, she hesitated - froze.

"Understood," she said, vocal processor as steady as her hands, as unsteady as her spark. Numbness spread from her shoulders across her chassis as she stepped to the next bed.

She looked up. Boon's eyes were upon her. He waved a hand, over-long digits and articulated talons suddenly far more of a threat.

"Please, my dear," he smiled warmly, "continue.

"You are, after all, the only one who can save them."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never done a thing from Suture's perspective iirc. A lot of unplanned little things worked out pretty well, and overall I'm p happy with this. Could use some refinement.
> 
> NOTE: Suture uses what I've been referring to as, for lack of a better word, a "compose-send" speech module. She creates an entire statement and spits it out at once, rather than talking as she thinks. This allows for less flexibility but greater consideration of what she's saying. It also means that (except for a much later scenario, thanks to Boon!) she can't stop herself saying something. So interruptions don't quite work for her as they do for other people.  
> Come to think of it, this would also ensure that her cadence is v measured as well. Something that works for her but I hadn't thought of til now.


End file.
